


Nuvian's Story

by Paralexium



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Awakening, Backstory, Blood and Gore, Change in Personality, Crying, Death, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Interracial Relationship, Not Beta Read, Parent Death, Racism, Screaming, Tragedy, coming to terms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23434984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paralexium/pseuds/Paralexium
Summary: This is the story of Nuvian, a half-elf living in the world of Skyrim.The story takes us back to Nuvian's childhood, before tragedy hit him and his family.Around the time Nuvian turns 8 years old, the people of Riften decide to voice their opinion on interracial relationships. It's all a blood tragedy which leaves the young boy with memories far too painful for his young mind and a mistrust in people. However, he does not only lose something dear to him. He is given a gift, a magical gift which was woken inside of him by a burn mark on that fateful night.
Kudos: 1





	Nuvian's Story

**Author's Note:**

> I am unsure if I will do more than one chapter, but if people like the story and want a continuation I'll be more than happy to provide it.
> 
> There might be things that doesn't make much sense, but that might be because this is my original character, therefore I sometimes draw inspiration from other ideas i just haven't written yet. Sorry about that, I will try to make up for it and if there are any questions I'll be happy to answer them.

To begin with this whole awakening deal sounded sweet and there was very little wrong with it in its entirety. However, the more days went by the more Nuvian began to feel the changes within himself but not only that, there were changes outside of himself. He had noticed how his personality and whole demeanor had changed with his newfound powers and to be honest? It was scaring him a bit while also giving him a sense of freedom. For once in his life he did not feel the heavy weight of anxiety on his shoulders, the thought that drove around his head all the time like daggers, each of them painful jabs of memories and times he had screwed up massively. Nuvian felt more content and confident in himself. He was beginning to no longer doubt the love his companions felt for him which, he before, felt he didn’t deserve or that they were luring him into a fake sense of security while waiting for the right time to just rip it all away from under him. A great black hole would open under him and consume him whole, and they would laugh… laugh at his misery. His cries would go unheard and maybe, just maybe he’d be lucky enough to die of embarrassment as they taunted him because of his tainted soul. A tainted soul he hadn’t asked for when he was but a tiny child. 

Nuvian didn’t ask for the life he had been granted; life found a way to ruin all happiness he had. It started with his parents. Their death was what started it all, or perhaps it was the simple birth of Nuvian himself that set things in motion. His dad was a Nord and his mother a Bosmer, this meant that Nuvian was born a half breed between the two races. His parents lived outside the city of Riften, not by choice mind you. The people of the city or rather, the entire land of Skyrim looked down upon couples like his parents. Interracial couples were rare to come upon, mostly because they were all slaughtered as soon as anyone found out.

It had been no different for Nuvian’s parents, even as they lived outside the town and nearly all the way outside the borders. The inhabitants found out eventually and it meant war, even more so when they found his mother pregnant. They waited though, they patiently waited for the birth of Nuvian and for his 8-year birthday came around till they finally ceased their ‘harmless’ torture. The ‘harmless’ torture involved in stealing their provisions or timber. Some even went as far as to paint the house walls with horse manure…. His parents got by with this behavior, and Nuvian didn’t think much of it. 

The day came however when they could no longer stand for this interracial couple and their bastard son. It was the middle of the night; they came in a horde rope in hands and torches lighted with roaring fire. They walked in silence of the night until they reached the house. A man bellowed “Come out now by yourself or we shall collect you ourselves!”. Nuvian had been sleeping when the man roared loudly outside, his parents were awake. It was like they knew their time was up and he felt this strange feeling of accept radiating from them. His father had demanded he stayed inside, to stay near the back door so he could get out in case the horde would go after him too. He obeyed his father’s orders reluctantly, watching as they went out the front door to meet with the giant group of people standing outside. 

He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but through the windows he saw his mother thrown to the ground. A few men stood around her, kicking and stomping. His father had been lowered so he sat on his knees, hands and feet bound tightly behind him so he wouldn’t be able to fight back, as they began their assault on him. Nuvian winced with every kick he heard, but his parents never uttered a scream or pained groan. He wanted to cover his ears however, if he did that, he wasn’t able to hear his father yell to him whether he should run or stay. He wanted to run, he really wanted to run but he couldn’t leave behind his parents, they were his everything and who would want to leave behind the only thing that mattered to them? No one. Outside the kicking and stomping had stopped and was replaced with roars and bellows from thee horde. A man with a giant torch stood before the house, inching closer to their roof for which was made of hay. Eventually, the man had inched close enough to light the roof on fire, which quickly spread out, eating up the hay in the flames of red, orange and yellow. 

Struck with panic, Nuvian’s brain had no idea what to do. It wasn’t until he heard his father’s scream telling him to get out of the house that he made a run for it out through the back door as he had been told. The roof had begun to slowly collapse over him and before he managed to open the door before him and get out a piece of burning wood feel on top of his left forearm. It burnt him though it was only a strife, it fell to the ground near his feet, but it still burned terribly. White hot searing pain shot through his arm, yet he couldn’t stay in the house any longer, he had to get out. 

Out through the door Nuvian ran straight on for the woods, from there he’d be able to find a bush to hide in, the dark acting perfectly to his hide his small figure. Also, from the bush he’d be able to see what was going on outside their now burning house. A pang of sadness hit Nuvian’s heart like tiny pin needles. The home he’d grown up in was now gone, his memories though remained but the sentimental value of the house was gone. 

The man with the torch Nuvian observed, had thrown the torch away and in his hand was now a dagger. It was sharp from what Nuvian could see and the silver reflected beautifully against the heated flames behind them. Beautiful as it was, it was nothing like that as soon as the sharp edge leaned against the throat of his mother. There was no fear in her eyes, no fear even as the sharp edge dug slowly into the fine skin of her throat making the blood trickle down in fine red lines, pooling in the crevices of her collarbone. His father looked away, the pain of witnessing his wife’s death too much to bear. He wasn’t given much choice when a man from the crowd stopped before him, taking his fathers chin in hand and yanking it roughly back to look at his wife. The grip harsh enough to be unable to break free from, his father had but little choice than to watch as they slit her throat in a wide but quick sweep. 

The sound of blood slashing as the cut was made and the horrible gurgling that sounded much like drowning reached Nuvian’s ears and it was a sound he was sure he’d never forget let alone the image he had seen before him. His mother was dead, gone. A thump could he heard when her dead body met the harsh ground beneath her. His father did not cry out, but streaks of tears ran down his cheeks his eyes closing. No one should ever witness the death of their loved ones as much as no one should witness the death of their own child. His wife dead meant the only one he’d have left, would be his son. Nuvian. 

Nuvian wanted to scream and cry but knew he couldn’t, they would find him otherwise. It would do him nor his dad any good if he went through the crowd screaming for his mother to come back and not leave him behind. So, he stayed put in the bush. He hoped his father had a plan for getting out of this but Nuvian remembered the look and feeling of acceptance coming from his parents earlier. It struck him rather suddenly that his father would in fact not be coming back to him, he would be alone. 

The time came when the man who had slashed his mother’s throat walked towards his father, wiping off the blood in the fabric of his pants. He inspected it, finding it as clean as it could be considering all he had to clean it with were the fabric of coarse pants made of wool. His father’s head was still locked in position by the man from the crown, however it was switched out and released with a tight hold of his hair from the man with the dagger. The grip was harsh, and it forced him to bare his throat, making it easily accessible for a quick sweep of a dagger. Taut tight enough perhaps even a leaf could break the skin at the right angle. 

The dagger was placed at the throat of his father, and before the stroke was made, he sought out the bush which he knew hid Nuvian in the dark of night. Nuvian too sought out his father’s gaze and eye contact were made. They held it intensely, that is until the slash blew out the light in his father’s eyes signaling his death. Again, the thump of a dead body was heard, and shouts of victory filled out the silence. 

The horde began to make their way back to Riften, their ‘good’ deed has been done. Behind them the house still burned wildly and the bodies they had left behind laid in the pool of their own blood, seeping out through their cut open throats. Nuvian waited for them to disappear entirely before making his way to his parents. When time got around to it and he was sure it was okay to come out, a rumble could be heard in the distance followed soon after with a white streak of lightning. With thunder and lightning came rain. It poured down heavily and rather soon the fire died down with it. The earth beneath him turned to mud as he made his way forward. 

Nuvian stood before their dead bodies, simply staring at them for what felt like hours but what was probably but a minute or two. The blood that streamed out still, was mixing with the mud so much so that you couldn’t tell which was which. Nuvian sank down to his knees feeling utterly defeated. He had lost all that was dear to him and for what reason? He didn’t know the reason as to why all that happened from his birth and until now happened. He had faith that not all people were that bad, or was he wrong? His parents had always told him only bad people got punished so… why was his parents punished? Why had he been punished? It was too many questions for him to understand and comprehend. 

He got out the dagger his father had gifted him at his 6th year old birthday. A fine elvish ornament had been engraved on the wooden handle, he traced it with his fingertips before gripping on to it properly. He took hold of his fathers’ hair first, only the size of a lock in his palm when he made the cut. He would have to find some thread to bind it together, for now he would store them the lock of hair in his pocket. He did the same thing with his mother’s hair, pocketing it in the other side of his pants. 

The boy knew there was nothing left for him here, though he was young he was not stupid. He could not stay here at a burnt down house, his parent’s dead. He would starve eventually, or he would get eaten when the wolves caught the scent of blood. It did strike him as odd though, that the townsfolk didn’t bother to check if Nuvian was in fact, inside the house or if he was even dead to begin with. He didn’t dwell on it much as he gathered himself, making his way up the road. His destination was unknown and his future likewise. He never looked back at the house nor his parents. Acceptance and a burn mark were Nuvian’s gift and lesson. 

Nuvian recalled that night painfully, as it was the night that changed his life forever. It made him into the half elf he was today, but this new awakening gave him a chance to start a new life. It had altered his appearance, that change only apparent given the loss of pigment in his hair. Before, his hair had been the rich and luscious color red. It was basically his trademark. When speaking of Nuvian, one could not forget to mention his mid-length curly and unruly red hair. A head of hair which suited the personality, a real hothead that boy was. However, now his hair had straightened out and the color was the whitest of white, almost like the first snow fall in the winter. 

Now, he knew Cerex was trying his best not to let his opinion on this new version of Nuvian shine through. It was getting hard though, harder because of the young boys rising confidence and though he had always had an air of sass and arrogance, it had never been worse. Normally Nuvian was nice in the way he would throw a sassy comeback on anything that was said around the campfire if he saw it fit but now it was a form of backlash each time Cerex, Hirskar or even Kelvion tried to calm him down or help him come to terms or rather gain control of the powerful powers surging through his veins. 

It was only recently that the boy had managed to control his fiery magic, for which he had been bestowed on the night he got that burn mark on his left forearm. Somehow, someway and for better or for worse the burn had awoken hidden magical abilities in the boy. Magic he could barely control when he’d been younger, it became highly uncontrollable and wild whenever the boy would get frustrated or angry, sometimes even when sadness overcame him, and the memories of his childhood were too much to bear.

Inside he felt like he was breaking apart, and the fire that sparked around him was like the water breaking the dam. It was like the breaking cracks finally snapped and out came a giant pool of lava. He sought solitude on days where he woke up and knew it would all be too painful to control. Nuvian would go to the nearest river, strip himself of clothes before stepping down into the water. From his place in the river he would sink down until his entire body was underneath the water. 

For a moment he had silence, and then he let it out. All painful memories coming in full force, triggering his magic like an explosion. He would scream under the water until his lungs had no more air. He wouldn’t hurt anyone with his magic simply because the water would kill the sparks of flames surrounding him before they could fully take form and do massive damage. Multiple times he would go up for air before descending under the water again to scream anew, letting out years of frustration, pain and stress.

Never had Nuvian felt so alone.


End file.
